Gleason lights up this city

That's what we had to see for ourselves Wednesday. The mightiest pair of eyes — heck, the strongest, most spectacular body part, period, among all the shredded abs and sick quads — at Super Bowl XLVII.

How else would you describe it when a man can bring light to a room, open a door or change the channel on a television using only his eyes?

Among diseases, amyotrophic lateral sclerosis is one of nature's most insidious, attacking a man at his very core — his nervous system — slowly shutting him down, shrinking his body and his world, until he needs help with the most basic of tasks, like breathing. There is no cure.

This crippling beast, however, has instead turned Steve Gleason into a superhero armed with special eyes that can do wondrous things. They even speak.

“Many ALS patients end up fading away quietly and dying,” says the former New Orleans Saint, who was diagnosed two years ago. “For me, this was not OK. I did not want to fade away quietly.”

So now, he's making noise, noise that's beautiful and moving, this man who once inspired this entire city in a completely different way. The disease took Gleason's voice but has failed to rob him of his ability to talk.

He speaks now through a computer and a synthesizer, having recorded hours of his voice when he still had the chance. Gleason can cause a letter to be typed by staring at it on his keyboard for two-tenths of a second.

Through similar technologies, he can switch on lights, adjust a thermostat, open and close shades, acts that former teammate Scott Fujita say “are astounding.”

All of this has helped Gleason do something now that is beyond simple astonishment. The Team Gleason House for Innovative Living is set to open here in May. It initially will give nine ALS patients a home and access to the same technologies that enable Gleason.

Is there anything a superhero can do that's nobler than making superheroes of others?

“Since the diagnosis, all those great things we love about Steve have just been heightened,” Fujita says. “The fact he drums up these crazy ideas and then puts the soldiers in place to make it all happen is amazing.”

Inspiring, too, which couldn't be more appropriate. This week, Super Bowl XLVII has evolved into something of an inspirational melting pot, a stirring stew among a million bowls of gumbo.

Baltimore's offensive coordinator Jim Caldwell quoted Proverbs during a news conference Wednesday. Ravens linebacker Ray Lewis has been borrowing from the Bible all week. The cover of the latest Sports Illustrated asks, “Does God care who wins the Super Bowl?”

But to find real inspiration here,
true inspiration means to marvel at Gleason. His is an inspiration on display, in plan view, asking not for blind faith but only for
our eyes.

“After my diagnosis,” Gleason says, “I was determined to foster the right support and the right technology and continue living a purposeful life.”

And to think, this is a man who already has his own statue here, a monument to the moment six seasons ago when he first inspired, lifting and reviving a city that nearly drowned.

Just 90 seconds into the Saints' first game at the Superdome after Hurricane Katrina, Gleason blocked an Atlanta Falcons punt. A teammate recovered in the end zone, the stadium shivered with emotion and the home team went on to win, 23-3.

The play — widely regarded as the greatest moment in Saints history — remains frozen in stone outside the Superdome.

“We were something special,” Gleason said immediately after that game. Then asked to describe what the victory meant, he explained, “Infinite joy, man, infinite joy.”

Long-haired and adventurous back in those days, Gleason has changed. He got a haircut.

Since being diagnosed, he has canoed the Missouri River, completed the Jazz Half Marathon while being pushed in a wheelchair by this brother-in-law, and become a father.

In April, less than four months after having a device implanted to help his lungs continue functioning, Gleason plans to visit the Inca ruins in Peru, in Machu Picchu, which is nearly 8,000 feet above sea level.

Thin air, for a man who needs a machine just to breathe? This is living with a purpose for Gleason, who marked the one-year anniversary of his diagnosis by doing the opposite of seeking higher ground. He jumped from a plane.

“This is an effort that is bigger than me, the blocked punt or the city of New Orleans,” he says of the Team Gleason House project. “This is bigger than football and the Super Bowl. This is something that will outlive all of us.”